Will Of Dominance
by aurorawhitestone
Summary: Follows the tale of a young Imperial who left Cyrodiil to resolve his own personal matters. But to accomplish this, he must face many new tasks and dangers, meet new people, and overrule his dominant dragon power.
1. Chapter 1

**Hope you'll like my first chapter! It's my first ever fanfic, and I've had this idea for a while now. **

**Please review if you have the time! They're always appreciated.**

**Enjoy!**

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It was early in the morning; the sun already blaring a warm glow across the sky and trees. There was a slight chill in the air, and the sunlight strongly streamed through the canopies. Among the trees was a large, dusty path with two large wagons being pulled by strong, brown horses. The clacking and soft neighing of the animals was all that could be heard, along with the soft bristle of the wind brushing against the leaves above them.

The wagons and horses were being guided along the path by formally dressed soldiers; a couple were leading on horses of their own at the front, and in the wagons were defeated prisoners; hands tied and mostly dressed in blue, tattered uniforms. One, however, was dressed like a royal knight. He was the only one whose mouth was gagged, but he held his head up proudly with confidence, staring intently before him, avoiding eye contact with the others. He was preparing himself.

One, rather young, man gave him a quick glance, curious of his identity. He quickly gave up and stared down at the wagon. It didn't matter anyway.

There were two others, and both of them Nords. One of them sitting across from him noticed his curiosity. He had typical long, blondish hair thick with dirt and a ragged blue uniform. His face was hard and well chiselled but his eyes conveyed defeat.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" His accent was thick, and the young man continued staring down. The Nord continued on. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

The Nord glanced sympathetically at the thief who suddenly raised his head at his mention. "Damn you Stormcloaks," he responded bitterly. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."

The gagged man gave him a slight glance, and continued staring into nothingness.

"If they hadn't been looking for you," the thief continued, "I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." His voice drowned away into a mutter, but his face was still scrunched up in anger.

The young man gave him his attention and sympathy, as he was unnecessarily caught in the Imperial's trap as well. The thief noticed his stare.

"You there," the thief stuttered. "You and me – we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

_It's still futile in the end_, the young man thought to himself.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the Nord replied solemnly. He had accepted his fate, and the young man gave a slight nod in agreement, which resulted in him staring down at his feet again.

"Shut up back there!" an Imperial soldier yelled commandingly.

The thief seemed to ignore this, and inquired about the other gagged Nord. "And what's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue," the Nord snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

The young man's head snapped back up as he examined the gagged Nord beside him inquisitively. He had heard talk of the civil war in Skyrim. Even in his last few hours of his life, he never would have expected to meet the leader. He guessed it was over now, since he was now in binds.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" the thief asked, his voice staggered. "You're the leader of the rebellion."

Ulfric's eyes met the thief's for a moment before retreating again to mull over his fate. The young man looked down again. For some reason, he didn't blame Ulfric for this. Even if he was from Cyrodiil himself, he assumed this would be his fate sooner or later. He had never claimed loyalty to anyone.

"But if they've captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief's eyes widened with the realisation of his demise. As if he was in denial before; he could no longer ignore the truth.

"I don't know where we're going, But Sovngarde awaits," the Nord answered quietly.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening."

The thief sat quietly panicking as the wagon became silent again. After a few moments, he seemed to have calmed down, closer to acceptance, perhaps. The young man stared up into the sky instead, attempting to enjoy the cool breeze. This was his first time in Skyrim, and he wanted to enjoy what he could.

"Hey," the Nord's rough voice penetrated the silence. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" the thief quickly responded, his voice shaky and unstable.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," he answered, his eyes wandering off, dreaming of his own.

"Rorikstead," the thief replied with a calmer tone. "I'm… I'm from Rorikstead."

It was then that the young man's thoughts drifted off to his own home. Except, this didn't bring him comfort of any kind, and he kept his mind fixed on preparing himself instead, preventing his thoughts from straying again.

After another moment of silence, which felt like hours to the young man, a voice was heard from the front. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

These words stabbed a stroke of fear and dread in their hearts, so much so that they didn't speak to each other.

"Good, let's get this over with," Tullius replied, one of the riders in front.

It angered the young man that he was talking about their executions so lightly, but it wasn't as if he hadn't experienced this attitude towards death before. Memories flashed before his mind, but he broke out of this trance by the thief's desperate chanting.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

The young man pondered at this plea for aid, and wondered who he could ask. He had never believed in them, but he could feel the intrigue at finding some comfort from relying on an otherworldly being – one that could save him from death or perhaps greet him afterwards.

They were nearing a large, wooden gate being opened at their arrival, surrounded by tall, stone city walls. A young woman was walking beside them, holding hands with her daughter. They both stared with hard curiosity and acceptance.

They were all silent as they were brought into the town. The man took this time to look around the town, wondering where he was. The Nord focused his eyes on General Tullius in front.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor."

The other three watched Tullius as well, as a new hatred for the man sentencing them to their deaths simultaneously grew together. Especially the Jarl, he stared at him with narrowed, burning eyes.

Tullius trotted over with his horse to a few other armoured officials; however, their armour was very different. The young man recognised with surprise that they were High Elves; Thalmor, he guessed, although, he had never seen one before up close. Their armour was almost golden and shiny, and their expressions and poses were gleaming with arrogance.

"And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves," the Nord muttered to himself. "I bet they had something to do with this."

The man diverted his attention to the civilians watching them; some with curiosity, others with depression. He wondered if they were used to watching public executions. He certainly was, but he noticed certain parents shielding their children's eyes and pulling them inside. Again, he wondered what town it was. It was mostly full of the usual stone, grey buildings and the sky seemed duller here; the sun's red glow had quickly vanished with the overpass of clouds.

"This is Helgen," the Nord stated, answering the man's unspoken question. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

His voice spoke with an air of nostalgia, which depressed the young man even more.

"Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe," he continued, longing for the ignorance of childhood.

The man turned to examine the wooden buildings behind him, as civilians began shutting windows and doors.

"Who are they, daddy?" a young boy asked, watching the prisoners, sitting on his porch. "Where are they going?"

"You need to go inside, little cub," his father replied, continuously staring at them judgementally.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

The boy's father turned his attention on the little boy. "Inside the house. Now," he commanded.

The boy reluctantly stood and his eyes, just for a moment, met with the young man's. They were full of the naivety and bliss of a child, with the desire to explore and experience new things, but not bearing the strength to take these new experiences. The man almost wanted to destroy this innocence; wished for the father to end his son's childhood. But he passed this wish off as a dull, pointless hope of vengeance against someone who hadn't even wronged him. Instead, he directed this anger at the General riding with the Thalmor in front.

"Whoa!" an Imperial soldier spoke to his horse.

A captain stepped forward, stammering out commands: "Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!"

The thief began his panic again, head whizzing about confusedly. "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think?" the Nord snapped back. "End of the line."

The wagon came to a sudden stop, shifting the prisoners slightly. The man watched the other prisoners on the second wagging being led off, hands tied. He could feel his heart beginning to race, and closed his eyes for a moment to calm his nerves.

"Let's go," the Nord spoke softly to him. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

He nodded slightly in response, feeling an ounce more of attachment to this Nord than before. They all stood together, both of them keeping mutual eye contact, Ulfric standing proudly, and the thief shaking.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the thief pleaded, as they stepped off the wagon.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," the Nord told him sternly.

They were met with a female captain, examining them as if they were inhuman, and another Imperial soldier. More soldiers were flooded around them, with a few civilians watching from their houses.

_No chance of escape_, the young man thought.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The man glanced nervously at the panicked thief. He knew he was merely scared and in denial of what was to come, but he would have hated to be subject to his feelings this much. He possessed no sense of pride. Any attempt to reason with them was futile, so the young man held his head highly, showing no fear on his face.

"Step towards the block when we call your name," an Imperial ordered them. "One at a time."

"Empire loves their damn lists," the Nord muttered.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

The name and title seemed to be carried with the wind. The name was of great significance, but the young man was wondering how long that would last after his execution. The Imperials would rid it in all history books, never speak of it again. But it would perhaps remain through the ages. For the young man himself, however, he would be eternally forgotten.

Ulfric, with his royal clothes and proud posture, stepped forward.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!" the Nord cried.

Ulfric gave no acknowledgment to the Nord, but continued on, marching past the two Imperials to the other line of prisoners.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

The Nord, called Ralof, the man learned, followed Ulfric with pride.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The young man's heartbeat quickened as the thief stepped forward. It would be him next.

"No!" Lokir cried, "I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!"

Lokir shook his head violently, and shifted his weight. The man stared after him concerned as he darted past the two soldiers.

"Halt!" one commanded.

"You're not going to kill me!" he hysterically laughed. His clumsy running, with his hands tied made him look desperately cowardly, as with running from his inevitable death, he forsook his honour for a worse one.

"Archers!" the female legion called.

The young man didn't want to watch, but he felt that he wanted to make something of Lokir's death honourable. He managed to travel another few feet when his back was abruptly stabbed with a flying arrow. He toppled to the ground face-first, spurting a trail of dirt and dust into the air, leg twitching until he moved no more.

The man then bowed his head and never set eyes on Lokir again.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the female legionnaire asked smugly. She caught the eyes of many prisoners around her, full of burning hatred.

"Wait," the name-caller said, facing the young man. "You there. Step forward."

The young man straightened his back and walked up to the Imperial soldiers, keeping an expressionless face. They both confusedly stared at the young man, unaware of his identity.

"Who are you?" the male guard stuttered.

"Tirane of Cyrodiil," the young man answered bluntly.

There was a slight flash of surprise on the soldier's face. "You're a long way from the Imperial City. What're you doing in Skyrim?" he asked inquisitively.

The man didn't answer.

The soldier bore a strong air of confusion. "Captain," he muttered, turning to the female. "What should we do? He's not on the list."

At these words, a wave of hope swept through the young man, though his face remained calm.

"Forget the list," she replied sternly. "He goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain."

All his hope was diminished and replaced with burning hostility towards these Imperial soldiers. The male one, however, glanced gravely at the young man.

"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil," he assured him.

At this point, the young man didn't think much of this statement or his sympathy. He was trying hard to cling onto the calmness he had before.

"Follow the Captain, prisoner."

Tirane's heart began to race again as he followed the female Captain to the line of prisoners. He fortunately was able to stand next to Ralof, but all they could do was acknowledge each other with a grim nod. He could feel his legs growing weak, but tried his best to stand strongly.

Ulfric was standing in front of the line, with General Tullius facing him. "Ulfric Stormcloak," he mused aloud. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

All Tullius received in return was a muffled grunt, since Ulfric was still gagged. Tirane wondered what Tullius meant and wished he'd learned more of Skyrim. A painful thought of all the things he had yet to know and experience stabbed him, and he glared at General Tullius.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

Tirane understood a war and fight for peace and honour, but he was irritated at the fact he was going to die because of it. He had always wanted to leave Cyrodiil, but perhaps he wasn't meant to.

Suddenly, a far-off noise caught his ear, a sound like thunder, but alien to him. It caught the attention of the guards and prisoners as well, as everyone stared into the sky in wonder.

"What was that?" the male soldier asked warily.

Tullius ignored it. "It's nothing. Carry on."

The prisoners bowed their heads in depression and the soldiers began to make preparations, but Tirane still examined the sky. It was useless however; the clouds had disappeared leaving a vast blue blanket with no unusual mark.

He quickly gave up like the others and faced a priestess declaring their last rites, praying to the divines, but Tirane didn't pay much attention. It started to get annoying after a while.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." It was said by a Stormcloak prisoner, to Tirane's amusement. It decreased their remaining time, but he, himself, couldn't stand it much longer anyway.

"As you wish," the priestess solemnly complied, as the vocal Stormcloak walked up to the block.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning," the Stormcloak continued. It caused a surreal turn to the situation for Tirane. The Stormcloak showed no fear, and he only hoped he would do the same when it was his turn. The priestess turned her head and left. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

His voice was strong with belief and bravery. Tirane turned to face Ralof who was staring at his fellow Stormcloak with pride and admiration.

The Stormcloak knelt down, and his face was shoved down to the block by the female Captain. The next few seconds went by in silence.

The headman lifted the long, heavy axe into the air, and instantly it seemed, sliced through the air and ended the life of the Stormcloak. The prisoners watched as blood spurted from the neck and the head rolled into a basket in front. The body fell to the side of the block, completely limp and no longer containing any air of pride.

_None of it really matters_, Tirane helplessly thought to himself, his eyes widened and legs now shaking. He had witnessed public executions before, but it was completely different with his foreboding knowledge. But the pride and bravery that soldier had was now completely diminished; his beliefs and musings gone. And the same thing was going to happen to him. Did something like honour really matter? All he wanted at that moment was to escape – whether it was done honourably or not, Tirane realised he didn't care.

"You Imperial bastards!" another Stormcloak soldier cried. Ulfric was staring down at the soldier's body, unresponsive.

It was met with cries of justice from the Imperials and townspeople. "Death to the Stormcloaks!" an old woman yelled.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof stated, head held high.

Tirane shivered with growing fear, and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Next, the Imperial."

He made sure his legs stood firm and he tightened his fists to stop himself shaking. Why did it have to be so soon?

Again, the alien sound penetrated the tension, louder this time, and everyone searched the skies again in alarm.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the male soldier asked.

"I said, next prisoner!" the female Captain huffed.

He then turned towards Tirane, looking sympathetic like before. "To the block, prisoner," he told him, softly. "Nice and easy."

Tirane made sure not to stumble. Taking his time, he walked over to the block, looking up at the sky one last time. He stopped at the block, right next to the large axe, dripping with blood. He met the male soldier's sorry eyes, and then knelt down, as his head was pushed down onto the block. He was suddenly more conscious of everything; his breathing which slowly took its last gasps of air, and its noise filling his head; the blaring light from the sun shining into his eyes; the uncomfortable position he was in, and the black, looming figure with the axe staring down at his next prisoner, eager to get the job done. The thick stench of blood around his head soaked his red hair and made him feel sick with its mustiness. In a couple of seconds, his past and goals flashed before him; knowing he wasn't going to achieve anything almost maddened him. But there was also a small glimmer of hope that someone would be waiting for him in the afterlife.

The headsman lifted his axe high in the air when a thundering roar was heard again, the loudest yet. Tirane's eyes widened in shock as he witnessed a great figure soaring down from the mountains in the sky and towards Helgen.

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**Thanks for reading!**

***_waits eagerly for feedback*_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Enjoy the next chapter! Quite a bit of action in this one, with an interesting decision.**

**And thank you so much for those reviews for the first chapter. They made my day! ^^**

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The headman lifted the axe high, but the others were preoccupied with yelling and staring, terrified at the large booming figure soaring towards them. Tirane couldn't move, as if he were in a trance.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Tullius beckoned.

"Sentries! What do you see?" the Captain asked alarmingly.

"It's in the clouds!"

"Dragon!"

Suddenly, it landed with a heavy crash on the tower before them, and an incredible thundering roar was heard through all of Helgen.

The executioner tumbled quickly to the ground and Tirane's head was thrashed onto the block, and all he could see was blackness.

Buildings were trashed and the large, monstrous dragon roared up into the sky, a sea of flame escaping its mouth. All in the direction of its roar crashed back with its unbelievable force. Prisoners, soldiers and civilians were all in panic.

Tirane could suddenly hear frightened yells all around him, as he began to regain his senses. He could faintly hear a man speaking to him, "Hey, boy. Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

Tirane opened his eyes as Ralof grabbed his arm and shoved him to his feet.

"This way!" Ralof yelled at him as he ran for cover.

Tirane quickly followed, his head aching and a trickling of blood running down his temple. He chanced a glance behind him to find the dragon burning a nearby building with its roar. The very sight frightened him to his very core, and he felt lucky Ralof had grabbed him.

They ran into the entrance of a nearby tower which looked like it was falling apart. Roars, screaming and destruction – the crackling of fire and crashing of buildings – were all that could be heard. Tirane desperately tried to break through from the rope tying his hands, adrenaline pumping through him.

They found Ulfric inside as well, in the cramped base of the tower. He looked pleased to see Ralof, and was somehow free of his gag and rope.

"Glad to see you're alive," he told Ralof. His voice was incredibly deep and thick. His eyes seemed cold but fierce, his posture noble but bold. Tirane ran up to him.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof exclaimed. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied, with anger in his voice.

"How do we get out of here?" Tirane asked, hoping he would take the lead.

Another roar was heard; thrashing the tower and making them all lose their balance for a few seconds.

"We need to move. Now!" Ulfric replied.

"Up through the tower," Ralof yelled through the loud tumbling and booming of the walls. "Let's go!"

"But," Tirane protested, "The higher we go, the more dangerous it is!"

However, Tirane's dispute was unheard as it was muffled by a thundering crash from outside the tower.

"What are you waiting for?" Ulfric yelled. He shoved Tirane forward as he ran past, following Ralof. "Up the stairs! Now!"

"With me, up the tower!" Ralof shouted.

Tirane quickly followed. He didn't have much of a choice, it seemed.

They climbed the tower steps with great speed, and with every roar and crash heard outside, Tirane's heart almost skipped a beat. He felt that at any moment, the wall would cave in and he would be burned alive by the dragon's unbearable flame. He stared after Ulfric and Ralof, both brimming with confidence and strength, while Tirane tried to keep up with them in panic.

They eventually came to a standstill. The steps were blocked by a pile of rubble and stones – damage from the dragon's earlier blow.

"We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!" a Stormcloak soldier told them, frantically trying to move the rubble.

Tirane instinctively moved forward to help, when he was thrown to the inner wall along with Ralof and Ulfric. Tirane rolled down the stairs a little, in great pain, and looked up to see the wall caved in, with the mighty dragon's head furiously inspecting them.

"Get back!" Ralof cried. Tirane tried to fumble to his feet.

"_Toor…Shul!_" the dragon roared, creating a fume of fire on the stairs. The heat was incredibly scorching, but fortunately missed Tirane, Ralof and Ulfric as they desperately crawled and ran as far away from it as they could, Tirane almost tripping on the crumbled, flimsy stone stairs.

The cry of the Stomcloak soldier was heard as he was mercilessly burned, but Tirane paid him no heed, he just concentrated on keeping himself out of the fire.

The flame suddenly subsided, and the dragon's head retreated from the tower, giving its attention elsewhere. Tirane quickly stood, but staggered, his head thumping, each time with a stab of pain. Ralof pulled on his arm to keep him from falling.

His fear was decreasing, and instead, his adrenaline was fading away with a sense of unconsciousness growing at the back of his mind. The whole situation suddenly felt very surreal; the air filled with black smoke and his ears hearing nothing but screams of terror.

"Where's Ulfric?" Tirane asked, voice quiet and cracked.

Ralof frantically looked around and found him kneeling down next to the rubble. He quickly stood. Ralof carefully looked outside through the giant hole the dragon had created in the wall. "See the inn on the other side?" he gestured. "Jump through the roof and keep going!"

"I-I can barely stand," Tirane stammered.

"You don't have a choice, boy!" Ralof snapped. He quickly calmed himself. "Come on, Imperial," he urged with a softer tone.

Tirane glanced outside. There was a shattered inn where the dragon had perched, with a large opening to the first floor. It was quite far down below, in ruins, and it looked like it would fall apart any second. The fact that his view was terrible unnerved him; a thick layer of smoke continued drifting through the air, and everything seemed blurred and shaky.

"Go!" Ralof yelled. "We'll follow when we can!"

Tirane braced himself and with a little run, leaped through the air, instinctively closing his eyes tightly. The unsettling feeling in his stomach woke up his senses. The next thing he knew, he was tumbling through the wooden floor with a mighty crash, as the wood beneath him caved in, and he landed near the entrance, covered in sharp, heavy pieces of wood. Great panic and fear filled him as the wood around him was suffocating, and every part of his body ached. He kicked the rubble and wood away and pushed with all his strength, with his hands still tied, to escape from the debris. The constant roar could still be heard, and he couldn't tell if he was hearing the dragon nearing him, or if it was the slow return of his sense – the noise becoming clearer.

He shakily stood up, sharp pain stabbing at his head and joints, and he could feel bruises forming around his legs and arms. His throat was full of dust, itching and sore. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, as the inn around him began to shake.

Quickly, Tirane stumbled towards the entrance to escape the wreckage and potential cave-in. The sunlight was strong, strengthened by the fire around him.

He turned and found two Imperial soldiers nervously standing in front of him. "Haming, get over here!" one called to a boy standing in the open. Tirane suddenly realised the one shouting was the soldier who called out their names, the one who sorrowfully met Tirane's eyes as he knelt down for his execution.

His instincts told him to run, to get away from the Imperials, but he ignored them, and began half-limping over to the soldiers.

"Haming, you need to get over here, now!" he yelled again. He was taking slight cover with the wreckage of a building and the other one was standing far back, while Haming unsurely stood, staring at another man, Tirane noticed as he limped closer. He suddenly realised that this man and boy were the father and son who had watched them enter Helgen. The boy slowly turned around, too frightened to watch his father. "That a boy, you're doing great," the soldier assured him.

However, as he turned around, the dragon landed right behind him, shaking the ground as if creating an earthquake, making Tirane stumble to the ground. The others lost their footing a bit, and Haming, in pure terror, quickly ran towards the soldiers.

"Torolf!" the soldier yelled at the man, inducing him to run as well as another great flame came from the dragon. But he could not run fast enough, as Torolf, Haming's father, was engulfed in the fire. Tirane's passing wish to end Haming's blissful childhood had come true. The three ran behind the wreckage, taking cover, as Haming cowered in the other soldier's arms.

Tirane was far away enough for the flame not to hit him, but he knew he needed to keep moving. He pushed himself up and stood, glancing behind him for any sign of Ralof and Ulfric, but there was none.

"Gods… Everyone, get back!" the soldier cried as the flame magnified.

Tirane staggered over to them, cursing as a pain pulsated through his left arm. The soldier turned and quickly noticed him.

"Still alive, prisoner?" he asked.

Tirane froze at the question, realising he was defenceless and due for execution.

"Keep close to me if you want to stay that way," the soldier continued, eyeing him sympathetically and turned away again.

Sighing in relief, Tirane quickly limped closer to him. He tried to utter a word of thanks, but his throat was incredibly choked up, and he was therefore unheard.

The dragon soared above them, its flapping wings creating strong gusts that Tirane could feel right above him.

The soldier addressed another soldier, requesting he take care of the boy. "I have to find General Tullius and join the defence."

Tirane sorely gulped at the mention of Tullius, but he believed that this soldier would be able to save him. He took another quick glance around him to find the Stormcloaks, however, but they were still nowhere to be seen.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," the other soldier replied.

Hadvar began running, sword in hand, while Tirane struggled to follow him. Hadvar noticed this with a glance behind him, and lessened his pace, which Tirane was greatly thankful for. They both contained the desire to run as fast as they could, but it just wasn't possible for Tirane.

They came across a small opening between a destroyed building and the city wall: the only way out. "Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar warned.

Tirane nodded as they warily crept by the city wall in the shadow, trying to search in the sky of the sign of the dragon, but it was in vain as the air was thick with smoke. They were about to run into the sunlight again when the dragon landed on the city wall, right next to them, blasting another wall of flame.

"_Toor…Shul!_" the dragon roared.

Hadvar and Tirane quietly waited in the shadows, praying they would remain unseen to the deadly dragon. The heat of the flame was almost unbearable, and Tirane couldn't imagine what it would be like to be caught by it completely. The thought made him shiver in fear.

Eventually, the flames diminished and the dragon soared into the sky, once again, searching for its next target.

"Quickly, follow me!" Hadvar urged.

Tirane desperately ran behind as they continued on through more wreckage; destroyed homes and shacks, surrounded by fire and smoke. The cries and desperate struggles of the other Imperial soldiers could soon be heard, and a certain reluctance and fear of them clutched at Tirane's chest.

They ran into the midst of it all, Tullius barking orders while soldiers attacked the flying dragon with their arrows. Hadvar and Tirane continued ahead, escaping the pointless fight as the soldiers were being slaughtered by flame or the dragon's bite, one by one. Soldiers directed them to safety towards Helgen's keep.

"It's you and me, prisoner! Stay close!" Hadvar yelled behind him.

Tirane felt incredibly lucky for Hadvar's aid. With his state of mind, he was not sure he could escape the wreckage alive. The only thing he could concentrate on was Hadvar's reassuring figure in front of him, which he followed with desperation, hands still annoyingly tied. But he had no strength left to try and break free of the weakened rope.

"How in Oblivion do we kill this thing?" an Imperial soldier cried with anxiety.

"Run, you idiot!" Tullius shouted in reply, as the remaining soldiers began to retreat.

Tirane and Hadvar left the soldiers behind, heading through a large stone archway, and narrowly dodging one of the dragon's passing flames. His head was thumping even louder now, and he could barely run straight.

He continued running until Hadvar stopped in his tracks. Tirane with drowsy eyes, ran up to him, confused. "Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

Tirane suddenly noticed Ralof standing nearby, in front of the entrance to the keep. He was eyeing Hadvar with storming hatred, until he noticed his fellow prisoner beside him. "We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," Ralof roared.

Tirane glanced nervously above at the dragon soaring in circles as arrows were continuously pelted towards it. They needed to get inside, and fast.

"Fine," Hadvar gave in. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

They then split ways, running for cover in Helgen's keep. Tirane awkwardly stood alone; unsure of whom he should escape with.

"You, come on! Into the keep!" Ralof yelled at him.

"With me, prisoner, let's go," Hadvar shouted.

Tirane left it up to instinct, and his feet ran next to the one he trusted the most. He turned and took a quick look at the wreckage behind him, once Helgen, a prosperous Skyrim town, now in ruins and fire – all caused by one monstrous entity. He realised with a shock that he hardly found any civilians, only soldiers capable of defending themselves. He could feel his mind beginning to crack under the weight of it all, so he pushed all the death and destruction out of his mind and faced forward, as he stumbled through a wooden door along with his saviour and entered Helgen's keep.

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**Please review! I'd love some feedback about the characters of Hadvar and Ralof, and who you think Tirane will go with. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**And here's the answer to that small cliffhanger! ;)**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! Quite a lot of content.**

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"Here, let me cut those binds."

Tirane lifted his shaking arms as Hadvar cut the rope binding them with a small dagger. He looked worriedly at Tirane; he could tell his head had been badly injured.

"Looks like we're the only ones who made it," Hadvar mused, staring at the large wooden door as vague blasts could still be heard. "That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like the children's stories and legends."

Tirane tried to utter something in response, but all that came out of his dry throat was a small croak.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hadvar mumbled as he noticed his condition, fumbling around in his armour. He quickly found a small leather bottle. "I drank most of it during the journey."

He handed it over to Tirane who took it gratefully and savoured the small amount of water that trickled down his throat, clearing it up a little. His swallows were still painful, and afterwards, Tirane began frantically coughing up dust, nearly collapsing onto the floor.

Hadvar watched him, unsure of what to do. Tirane's cough soon ended as he stood straight and stared around at the small room they were in, with grey stone walls, and large black and red Imperial flags swaying gently over them. The noise seemed very far away, and Tirane's anxiety quickly subsided.

"We better get moving," Hadvar muttered, turning.

Tirane followed, but they moved slowly, Hadvar conscious of Tirane's condition. They entered another room, one with a slain Stormcloak soldier. Tirane stared down at the corpse anxiously, but Hadvar decided to make use of it.

"There you go," he said. "Take whatever you need from that Stormcloak. Armour, a weapon, some coin. It'll probably come in handy."

Tirane reluctantly searched the Stormcloak's pockets, and undressed him. He was quickly wearing the light blue light armour himself, and he sheathed a small steel sword and a dagger. However, the extra weight tired him even more.

Hadvar watched Tirane grasp his head, still throbbing with the earlier blows. The Imperial soldier gave a hesitant sigh as he crouched down at the next open door, carefully on the watch for any intruders.

"You. Get some sleep," Hadvar told him.

"I can walk," Tirane slightly protested.

"Not for much longer. When we leave this place, the dragon might still be out there, and then we'll have to run," Hadvar replied, staring at him with hard eyes.

He was too tired to protest further. So he lay down, trying to get as comfortable as he could, and his eyes wandered across the stone ceiling that formed up to an arching point in the middle. His ears prickled at the sound of distant roaring. The dragon was still out there.

The very thought of the scaly creature almost made him shudder, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on the thick blackness instead. He could hear his head throbbing and it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. He was mostly wondering how he could possibly sleep in such a state, but with each second that passed by, he was becoming more relaxed.

Hadvar listened intent for any voice or footsteps. He didn't see anyone else enter, apart from Ralof, and if any other Stormcloaks were around, they would be in trouble. By the time Tirane finally fell asleep, however, Hadvar began to wonder why he continuously thought of themselves as companions. The boy was a criminal, and was almost executed under his watch.

But he also reminded himself that he was an unlucky Imperial who crossed the border at the wrong time. He glanced at his sleeping face. Blood had dried on his forehead and crusted his eyebrows, and he had dark red hair to match it. He never found an ounce of corruption in his bright blue eyes, when they were open. They weren't innocent; however, Hadvar could tell the boy had seen things beyond his years.

A couple of hours passed with Tirane sleeping soundly, regaining some strength to continue through the keep, and Hadvar began to find it hard to stay fully awake himself. However, Hadvar was quickly startled to complete consciousness when a small groan was heard from Tirane.

He quickly bent over and inspected his eyes which were moving frantically beneath his lids. He leaned over him, hesitant to wake him up if it was a very vivid dream.

Suddenly, Tirane's eyes flashed open, full of panic and fear. His body remained still but stiff – almost frozen. He quickly relaxed when he became aware of his surroundings, and glanced up at Hadvar awkwardly leaning over him.

Tirane watched as the soldier retreated and took his spot next to the door again. "You were dreaming."

Tirane shuffled around, his body aching but feeling more awake. He managed to sit up, with his back against the wall. "I was dreaming of that dragon," Tirane said, his voice much clearer. "I was running, forever it seemed, with it flying above me." His eyes gazed forward, but didn't focus on anything. "I was running towards a mountain," he continued.

Hadvar turned around to give him his full attention.

"It was the highest mountain I've ever seen. Too snowy for Cyrodiil. But… I felt desperate to reach it. Like I would be completely isolated from any kind of danger if I got there. And, at one point, I was so close. I couldn't tell how far away it was, but I knew I was almost safe. The dragon roared above me. And I was knocked to the ground. I turned around, expecting to see the dragon."

At this point, Tirane stared down, examining his hands. Hadvar waited silently for him to continue.

"I saw myself," Tirane stuttered, his voice heavy. "At least, I think it was me. I've never exactly been fortunate enough to look in a mirror, but I know of my features, and I thought, well, who else could it be?"

"There aren't many folks with hair as red as yours, Imperial," Hadvar assured him.

Tirane nodded. "Well, whoever it was, he really scared me. I didn't like how he looked. The last thing I saw was a burst of flame coming from him. I could feel the burning sensation, as if I was actually on fire, and, of course, I didn't realise it was a dream."

Hadvar stared at him worriedly. "I try not to think much of dreams, myself, but I do believe they harbour some meaning. Perhaps there is a part of you that frightens you? And we can both guess why you dreamt of a dragon," he chuckled.

Tirane gave a slight smile, but he continued staring down at his hands. There was a moment of silence when Tirane began to look troubled.

"Hadvar, is it?" he asked.

"That's right," he grunted in return.

"Why did you save me?" Tirane enquired. It had been bothering him for a while. "I was a prisoner, about to be executed."

Hadvar sighed and faced him. "You're too young."

"That's not the right attitude for a war," Tirane objected. "Are you saying you've never slain a young man before?"

Hadvar gave him a dangerous look in response. "We soldiers are given orders, and we carry them out. But some know the difference between slaughtering the young and helpless and killing our enemies in battle. Besides, you don't look like a Stormcloak to me."

Hadvar's roaring voice had silenced Tirane who stared at him in wonder. The soldiers he had met before in his life were always arrogant and obnoxious, so he never developed a healthy opinion of them.

"Now it's my turn to ask questions," Hadvar proposed. "You had a choice back there. Why follow me, one of the Imperials who led you to your death?" He shook his head slightly. "I believed you would have gone with Ralof."

"I was going to," Tirane answered. "But if I went with Ralof, I would have chosen my side in this conflict already. I came to Helgen as a prisoner, and I definitely didn't want to leave as one. If I left with Ralof, I would have left as a Stormcloak, or I guess that's how your army would see it."

"So you're choosing to fight with us then?" Hadvar queried hopefully.

"No. I came to Skyrim for a purpose. I can't afford to get involved," he stated.

"I see," Hadvar sighed. "Well, feel free to sign up. We could use someone with your endurance. Not many could have survived that dragon attack today."

Tirane suddenly concentrated to hear any outside noise.

"Relax. I haven't heard it for a while now. This place is eerily quiet. Either we're the only ones who survived, or I suspect an ambush."

Tirane stood shakily. "Your feud still continues in this situation?"

"The Stormcloaks will always fight and battle. That's all they're good at," he spat. "What I'm interested to know is whether Ulfric is alive. A dragon attacks just as he's to be executed?"

"You think that dragon is on Ulfric's side?" Tirane doubtfully looked down at Hadvar.

The soldier stood up, stretching his legs. "I wouldn't go so far as to say the dragon's fighting for the Stormcloak army. But it certainly is suspicious. We should get going."

Tirane nodded as he followed Hadvar. He could think more clearly now, and the day's events finally dawned on him. He gained sudden realisation that he was extremely fortunate to be alive, and his eyes rested on Hadvar in front of him, whose presence gave him a sense of ease.

They quickly met an iron gate at the end of the stone-walled passage. Luckily, it was open, but it seemed to lead onto descending stairs.

"Should we continue through the keep?" Tirane asked, hesitatingly.

"I don't know for sure if that dragon's gone. We need to get out of Helgen, and this is the safest way."

They then progressed through the keep, wary of any Stormcloaks or other potential enemies. But all they were met with was an eerie silence, penetrated only by the sounds of their footsteps and breathing. Tirane could tell they were continuing underground as the walls became thick with mud and they continued descending down steps and slopes. Whenever there was a room with helpful items, like gold and medicine, they would spend a few minutes there: Tirane taking anything he could carry that would be of aid, and Hadvar standing guard, hand on sword, ready for any sort of ambush.

The more they travelled, the less it was an Imperial keep, and the more it became an underground cave, and Tirane began to doubt they would find anything else of use. But with surprise, they entered a wide, open tunnel with large pillars of rock holding up the wide ceiling. Even Hadvar looked surprised at this part of the keep. And near them, was a small crushed tent with broken firewood in a pile next to it. Hadvar signalled Tirane to examine the tent while he sneaked forward and gazed out to the rest of the area, trying to find an exit.

Tirane knelt down and lifted the rags of the tent. There were a couple of useless items, like a pot and a piece of leather, but as he lifted it higher, he found a long strip of wood, unrecognisable until he grabbed it. It was a bow, not a very good one but it was a sight that put Tirane at ease. He had always been interested in archery, and received a little training fortunately.

He remained crouching, inspecting the bow, as Hadvar found a small tunnel at the other side that would hopefully lead them out of there. He began scouting the area and made his way down to the bottom, shifting rocks and dust as he jogged.

Tirane glanced around him quickly and checked under the tent again, trying to find arrows to complement his new weapon. He could hear tiny rocks tumbling down after Hadvar's footsteps, and they echoed through the cave, which instilled a nervous feeling in Tirane. He suddenly realised how loud Hadvar was. Did the lack of enemies so far put him off his guard?

But he shook these thoughts away, as he definitely trusted Hadvar and knew he could take care of himself. Tirane was just about to follow until he felt something on the rags of the tent which stuck to his skin. He looked at his hand curiously and found what looked like a dark powdery substance which broke up as he smudged it with his fingers. Inspecting the tent closer, he found the tent was covered in it, and because of the darkness he couldn't see it clearly, or the colour, but as he brought it to his nose and took a reluctant sniff, he suddenly recognised the dry musty stench, and his eyes widened.

Suddenly, a loud war cry broke through the silence and made Tirane jump. He stood, taking the bow, and stepped forward a few paces. Gazing down with fear, he found Hadvar, a small shape from the distance, on the ground, trying to regain his composure, and, several feet away from him, a ferocious cave bear, standing on its hind legs, roaring fiercely, echoing through the cave.

Tirane in his head was begging Hadvar to stand up as the bear continued its roars. It must have taken Hadvar by surprise and injured him, he assumed. But he didn't know what to do. Could he even handle a bear?

But he owed Hadvar his life, and even though he had his close-calls with death enough times that day, Tirane made an unconscious decision as he began running down, ready to fight the bear with all he had, whether it cost him his life or not.

Fortunately, Hadvar made it to his feet, but Tirane could tell he was injured as he remained a little crouched, and he unsheathed his sword with difficulty. Tirane looked down, watching where he was going on the rocky surface, and caught a glimpse of a large circle of the same dark substance as before. His eyes followed the dried blood to a shadowy corner of the cave, where, after quickly following, he found the old, rotting corpse of a man. He ignored the disgusting appearance, but quickly checked whatever clothes he still had that weren't torn.

And he found what he was looking for. He grabbed the small quiver of iron arrows and turned towards the confrontation. Hadvar was staying still, with his sword ready, waiting for the bear to attack as it continued roaring. Tirane was fumbling to ready his bow as the bear gave one final mighty roar, and began pouncing forward, Hadvar yelling, and preparing himself to attack the beast. Tirane, in panic, dropped his first arrow, and with great speed because of the desperate situation, readied another, aiming it at the bear. There was no time to remember his lessons or tips; he pulled the bowstring with as much strength he could bear.

Just as the bear lifted his huge claw to kill Hadvar, and he, in turn, swung his sword back, ready to cut the beast, an arrow struck its large stomach, knocking it to the side and inducing another terrifying roar. The relief on Hadvar's face was clear, and he quickly backed away as the bear stood straight again on all fours, and turned towards Tirane.

Hadvar was quickly out of its sight, until he realised the bear's attention was now on Tirane. He ran back, trying to catch its attention, but it was already hurrying angrily towards Tirane, whose heart leapt as he tried to ready another arrow. He didn't know what to expect from the first blow, but all he knew was that if this one didn't kill the bear, he would die. It was hard not to watch the beast tearing towards him, its shoulders circling widely, with its teeth bearing and the black eyes glistening with madness and fury. Tirane had the arrow ready, but counted another several seconds before the bear would reach him. Knowing it was his last shot, he tried to relax, and ignore the pains bothering him – his pounding headache and fatigue, plus his overwhelming fear at the sight of the creature. Instead, he concentrated only on where the arrow was aimed. It was just a target, nothing more. His hands relaxed and gained a comfortable position, and he blinked once with his eyes never moving from the spot. Time seemed to slow down around him and as the bear's last roar sounded as close as ever, he let go of the bowstring, and dared not to look away as the arrow soared and quickly pierced the bear's neck just a few feet away. It toppled to the ground, and slid a few more inches towards him. Tirane continued staring at where the bear was running in disbelief; where the bear would be now if it wasn't lying dead in front of him. He grew out of his relaxed state as his breathing became heavier, but instead of fear and pain, he felt an intense sense of relief.

He let go of the bow and fell onto his knees, staring at the corpse of the great beast in triumph. Hadvar walked up to him, clutching his injured arm, and looked down at Tirane with a smile.

"Well, I think it's safe to say you have some talent with a bow."

Tirane laughed in response, high on adrenaline, and stood up. He spotted Hadvar's arm. "Are you hurt badly?"

"Nothing time won't heal. I was too excited at the prospect of getting out of this place that I didn't notice that sleeping bear in the shadows. I must have woken it, and before I knew it, it had swiped me on the arm. Lucky it wasn't my head," Hadvar explained.

"And I was lucky I found this bow and arrow. Otherwise, we'd both be dead."

"The gods have been generous on this day," Hadvar mused.

Tirane remained silent. At least he felt his debt was paid. Of course, he was extremely grateful to Hadvar for saving his life before, but he also felt he was constantly at his mercy until now.

"Let's get out of here, quickly."

Tirane tied the quiver to his armour and equipped the bow on his back as he followed Hadvar down to where the small opening was. The strong soldier ignored his bleeding arm as they hurried down, eyes scanning their surroundings.

The opening was small, so they had to progress in a single file. But it quickly grew so narrow, that they were forced to turn sideways, and many doubts arose in their mind whether this was the right way to proceed. It was incredibly dusty, and they frequently met with cobwebs. They could hear scuttling at their feet and above them, a few inches above their heads. Tirane concentrated on breathing slowly through his nose; the dust was suffocating and the darkness made it worse. His bow continuously scraped at the wall, and he considered leaving it. They said nothing as they continued, but they both frequently wondered if they should turn back.

They could feel themselves turning a corner and just as it was becoming too much for them to bear, the dust and webs became visible as a ray of sunlight shot through the opening. Tirane stopped for a moment with surprise.

This quickened their pace as Hadvar led him on and he quickly broke out of the binding cobwebs and onto a rocky surface. Tirane followed and stepped out into Skyrim atop a cliff, the thick breeze welcoming his face. It was cold, but very satisfying compared to the horrible hot blast of fumes from Helgen, and the suffocating, claustrophobic atmosphere of the keep. Clouds littered the sky but the sun was strong. Tirane gazed out into the landscape in disbelief at the width of it; the sky seemed to stretch out massively above them.

Hadvar patted Tirane's shoulder. For now, they were out of danger, something Tirane could hardly believe. But just as thoughts of relief and safety entered their minds, a terrifying growl crept upon them from far above, and they watched with fear and cautiousness as the mighty dragon soared past them, away from Helgen and the survivors.

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**Finally out of Helgen! :P**

**Feedback is always appreciated, please review if you have the time. ^^**

**Especially with the fight at the end there (I'd like to know how I do with action scenes). **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Just wanted to say, thank you for the reviews so far! ^^**

**And I'm thinking about working on my own front cover for this - my very own portrait of Tirane. So I'll try and get that done soon.**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter! A little more about Tirane and his personal quest. :)**

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Tirane and Hadvar had a difficult time scaling down the rocky cliffs from the keep, but they finally reached the bottom in a huge wave of relief. The armour didn't help, Tirane thought, but Hadvar seemed to move around with no problem. Still, he was reluctant to take it off. There wasn't much else he could wear or defend himself with, even if he looked like a Stormcloak.

A growing fear inside Tirane had at last subsided, as he was out of Helgen safely and the monstrous image of the dragon was nowhere to be seen. It felt like it was a dream, as he half-expected the whole world to be in ruins from the dragon's attack. But the nature of Skyrim lived on despite the numerous deaths that happened that day.

"We better get going," Hadvar said, and they both set out, ignoring their fatigue as much as they could.

The cool breeze was very relaxing, and they followed the large dirt path until they met with the main stone road.

"We'll go to Riverwood. It's not far from here, and I have family there."

Tirane nodded in agreement, and off they went, jogging along the road, enjoying the scenery, and walking when they grew too tired. Tirane was glad they would be in the company of Hadvar's relatives. They could expect a warm meal and a good night's sleep, which Tirane was desperately looking forward to.

Hadvar was struggling with fatigue, Tirane noticed. He, himself, was fortunate enough to sleep before, even if it was a little, but Hadvar's wound was definitely taking its toll. Both were soon sweating even in the cold air, and the sky began to darken as the day grew old.

They continued following the long, stone road, slowly descending from the high hills where Helgen was located. Tirane had never seen such a view before. Glancing at his side, he could see a large part of Skyrim that seemed to go on forever, with a vague horizon, covered by clouds and mist with the indefinite outline of mountains. He could see tiny movements on the plains below him belonging to different animals and creatures. Every time he was immersed with the view, he would fall behind a little, and Hadvar would have to remind him to keep up.

Before long, the sound of hooves could be heard from afar, and with a shock, Tirane and Hadvar both caught a glimpse of two riders racing towards them on the road.

They both stopped, unsure of their identity.

"What should we do?" Tirane asked.

"They seem to be heading for Helgen," Hadvar told him. "Well, Helgen is the place to go if you take this road, at least. We'll wait here."

Tirane nodded reluctantly. He didn't want a confrontation with anybody right now, but the riders, whoever they were, would have spotted them by now.

Both stood at the side and watched closely at the two riders approaching. Tirane suddenly stiffened when he realised who they were.

Their gold shiny armour was instantly recognisable, and their steeds were perfectly groomed. Definitely not Skyrim horses, Hadvar thought. They began to slow down as the Thalmor approached, glaring down at them both with deep suspicion and arrogance.

"You there. Soldier," one of them addressed Hadvar. "What are you doing with this Stormcloak?"

Tirane's heart almost skipped a beat as he was reminded of his armour. He could be in great trouble.

"He's a prisoner of mine," Hadvar replied, to which Tirane looked down defeated to play along.

The Thalmor narrowed his eyes. "Shouldn't his hands be tied at least? And where did you come from?"

Hadvar stayed silent for a moment, trying to decide whether to lie or not. "We've come from Helgen."

"Helgen?" the Thalmor asked bewilderingly.

The other High Elf, a female one, approached with her horse to get a better look at them both. "Shouldn't he have been executed there? Why don't we kill him just now?" she asked with a high, smug voice. "Fool of a Talos worshipper."

Tirane's eyes widened at her suggestion as the other Thalmor wore an agreeable face.

Hadvar quickly responded. "You see, we're taking this prisoner to Solitude for interrogation. He knows where the other Stormcloak camps are located."

The Thalmor's horse shuffled a little, as the male one stared at Hadvar with great disbelief. "Where are the rest of you?" he asked monotonously.

"General Tullius and the others are still at Helgen. Well, they should have left by now. We've finally executed Ulfric Stormcloak, you see."

The Thalmor's face certainly lit up at this false news. "Tullius sending a lone soldier to escort a Stormcloak to Whiterun? Certainly what you would expect of an Imperial general." His horse shuffled and snorted. "Fine. His victory must have overcome his good sense. One more question, soldier."

Hadvar swallowed and Tirane stared down at his feet.

"Where did you get those injuries from? You both look like you've experienced an earthquake."

Tirane nervously looked at Hadvar, hoping he would think of something good.

"We had a bit of a scuffle during the ambush. We lost a few of our men." He paused for a moment. "And the fire arrows we were using got a bit out of hand."

The Thalmor rolled their eyes slightly. Hadvar knew the more he belittled the Imperial army, the more it would please them. Tirane sighed a little in relief. He was wondering how he would explain the soot covering them.

The High Elves took a moment of thought, their horses slightly shuffling, and Tirane's heartbeat grew louder and louder the longer they took.

"Perhaps we should take them with us?" the female suggested, voice full of disbelief.

"It would slow us down. I want to see that Ulfric Stormcloak's head on a stick," the other spat. He looked down at Hadvar and Tirane. "You can go. But tie that Stormcloak's hands, and make sure he gets tortured enough, and then dispose of him immediately."

"Of course," Hadvar assured him.

The Thalmor handed them rope and watched as Hadvar tied Tirane's shaking hands. He had never wanted to feel like a prisoner again, but he had to play the part, and remained silent.

"And make sure once you reach Riverwood, that another helps you escort him to Whiterun. That Tullius… I can't begin to imagine what he was thinking," the female Thalmor snorted.

Hadvar nodded eagerly in response.

The Thalmor didn't say another word, but took off at a high speed with their horses, not looking back. They both began walking in silence, and kept the rope in fear that the Thalmor were watching their movements. The sound of hooves had quickly disappeared, but Tirane was still willing to keep his hands tied.

"The day the Thalmor believe an Imperial saying Helgen was attacked by a dragon is the day they start worshipping Talos," Hadvar muttered to himself.

"They really wouldn't believe you?" Tirane asked doubtfully.

"Not at first. They would believe I was lying to them, kill us both for being Stormcloaks, get to Helgen, and then believe our tale. They must have been rallying with the other Thalmor there. I doubt they made it out alive."

"Then we better hurry then," Tirane said. "As soon as they see what happened there, they'll come after us, right?"

"Perhaps. But our tiny existences have probably already left their minds," Hadvar smirked. "With a dragon attack, they'll have more pressing matters at hand."

"I think they're gone now." Tirane shuffled his hands.

Hadvar cut his binds for the second time that day with a small dagger, and Tirane rubbed his wrists in belief.

They began their jog again, feeling a little refreshed at the rest, even if it was a tense situation.

"I've seen the Thalmor before," Tirane told him. "Never spoken to one though. They were always swarming the Imperial city. They wouldn't give a second glance to the beggars on the ground though. But if you looked at them the wrong way, or just happened to be in their path, there was a chance they would take you in suspicion for being a spy. A spy for who, I have no idea."

"You lived in the Imperial City?" Hadvar asked. "The Great War must have taken its toll for you."

"Well, I wasn't alive then."

"Of course," Hadvar replied, groaning.

"I was told how the city used to look though. How the White Gold Tower was the pinnacle of the city. But not anymore. It's something people divert their eyes at. The destruction of it before made it lose its beauty and significance. Now all it signifies is the Empire's defeat."

Tirane's voice diminished and his eyes were slightly raised, thinking back to the city and its appearance.

"Why did you leave?" Hadvar asked, curious.

Tirane almost chuckled. "I was forced to. If I stayed, I'd be in a prison right now. I'm a thief."

Hadvar's eyes widened. "So you probably did deserve to be on that wagon."

"Well, I _was _a thief. All my crimes will stay in the Imperial City, and I was given a choice. Flee or be imprisoned for the rest of my life." Tirane turned to Hadvar with a slight smile. "I was almost given a worse fate when I came here."

Hadvar became silent and Tirane could tell he was contemplating his words.

"Don't worry, Hadvar. I told you before. I came to Skyrim for a reason. My crimes will stay in my past. Besides, it was pretty difficult not to steal when you're a young orphan in a deteriorating city trying to survive." Tirane slowed a little. "I wasn't the only one."

"I see. Sorry for misjudging you. But you seem very well-spoken for a thief," Hadvar remarked.

Tirane smiled as he delved into his past again. "Well, I have someone to thank for that. We had a sort of… mentor. I was fortunate enough to be educated by him. He would try and look out for the orphans in the city as much as he could. He tried his best, giving us food when he could afford it. Most in the city these days are close to poverty, if they aren't living in it already. Meanwhile, you have the nobles and the Thalmor prancing about, feigning ignorance to what's around them. I've always hated the Thalmor," he spat.

"Be careful where you say that, Tirane," Hadvar advised. "The Thalmor are known for labelling lone travellers as Talos worshippers and torturing them to death. Their control over the Empire has made them extremely arrogant and they abuse their power."

"So the Stormcloaks are fighting with you for something both sides want?"

"It's not as simple as that. I'm sure you've heard about Ulfric killing Skyrim's High King."

Tirane shook his head and Hadvar stared at him in disbelief.

"Well, what triggered Ulfric's little rebellion was his confrontation with High king Torygg. He slaughtered him with the power of his voice."

"His voice? What do you-"

"Wait. There's Riverwood. We'll talk later."

As Hadvar pointed, Tirane immediately perked up at the sight of the town. But a worry crept through his mind.

"Will I be ok wearing this?" Tirane asked nervously, gesturing at his Stormcloak armour.

"We're in the Whiterun hold now. Officially, Whiterun itself is neutral, and there won't be anyone here as suspicious as the Thalmor, hopefully. We'll figure out what to do next."

Tirane nodded and they both entered the town. It was smaller than Helgen but more comforting. Helgen screamed Imperial presence, with its tall grey stone walls and Imperial flags, but the buildings here were made of wood and gave off an earthy, welcoming atmosphere. There were many people crossing the dusty streets, going home from work and enjoying themselves socialising. It was a very different atmosphere to what Tirane had gotten used to in the past while.

Tirane nervously followed Hadvar into the town, wondering what people would think of them, but they received no attention from the busy workers and farmers. The women headed home, and the men seemed to head one way – to a nearby inn.

"Who is it you're related to it?" Tirane asked quietly behind him.

His question was answered once they stopped outside a wooden house, and next to it under a shelter was a large blacksmith forge. A tall, stubbly man was clearing bits of metal and leather away, allowing a large yawn to escape his mouth as he turned around and spotted them both.

"Uncle Alvor!" Hadvar greeted. "Hello!"

"Hadvar?" Alvor replied with a rough voice. "What are you doing here? Are you on leave from…"

As Hadvar and Tirane walked up to the porch, Alvor began to inspect their ruffled state. "Shor's bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?" he queried anxiously.

"Shh.. Uncle, please. Keep your voice down. I'm fine," Hadvar reassured him. "But we should go inside and talk."

Alvor's face scrunched up. Tirane could tell he was an impatient man. "What's going on?" Alvor questioned. "And who's this?" He gestured towards Tirane, with his eyes slightly narrowed with distrust.

"He's a friend," Hadvar guaranteed him. "Saved my life in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything, but we need to go inside."

"Okay, okay. Come inside, then. Sigrid will get you something to eat and you can tell me all about it."

Tirane tensely followed them both into Alvor's house. Now that they had reached their destination, he felt tremendously exhausted. He wasn't really in the mood to talk about what happened, but he did perk up at the mention of food. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten anything all day.

"Sigrid! We have company!" Alvor called, summoning his wife from downstairs.

"Keep it down, I just put Dorthe to bed," she nagged until she spotted her visitors. "What in the name of Dibella happened? Is that you, Hadvar?"

"Sigrid, make the boys something to eat. They'll be hungry enough to eat a mammoth."

Alvor took a seat at his wooden dining table and Hadvar sat opposite comfortably. Tirane lingered for a moment hesitatingly before taking a seat next to Hadvar. He watched Sigrid begin to cut and prepare some vegetables nearby.

"Now, then, boy. What's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?"

Hadvar chuckled and Tirane smiled slightly. "Funny you use that analogy."

Alvor suddenly noticed his injured arm. "What happened to your arm?"

"It's fine, for now. But… I don't know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked… by a dragon."

Alvor immediately shook his head, chuckling to himself. "A dragon? That's… ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?"

"It's the truth," Tirane cut in. "We could hardly believe it ourselves at first even when seeing it with our own eyes."

Alvor's face grew grave and he continued shaking his head. "And who is this boy? A Stormcloak?!" Alvor asked, gesturing towards his clothes.

"My clothes got torn. Didn't have much of a choice," Tirane answered. "And I'm just a travelling Imperial. Listen. This dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive." His mind was concentrated on thoughts of Ulfric and Ralof. "I doubt I'd have made it out myself if not for Hadvar."

Alvor's face calmed and he glanced down apologetically. "Is it really true? A dragon?" he asked once again, voice full of wonder and fear.

Hadvar nodded gravely, staring at his uncle with hard eyes.

"Mara's mercy!" Sigrid squealed. "A dragon… in Helgen? Why, it could be here at any moment!"

"Believe me, it would have gotten here by now if that was its intention," Tirane assured her. He gave a slight shiver as he thought about the scaly creature. "And there would be nothing left."

"But it could still be nearby," Hadvar mused. "I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. But the most important thing is to let the Jarl in Whiterun know first. I'd say this hold is in the most danger for now."

"The Jarl?" Tirane asked, confused.

"Jarl Balgruuf. He rules Whiterun Hold," Alvor explained, softening his tone towards Tirane now he believed their story. "A good man, perhaps a bit over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he's managed to stay out of the war. I'm afraid it can't last, though."

"I'm not sure how this dragon attack will affect the war at this point," Hadvar thought to himself. "But if there're more…"

"Why don't you and I set out in the morning to Whiterun, Hadvar?" Tirane suggested. "I'm heading north, anyway. And I'll need some directions."

Hadvar glanced at Tirane curiously. "Where is it you're heading to? Why did you come to Skyrim?"

Tirane looked down and answered. "The College of Winterhold."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**Reviews are always appreciated. ^^**


	5. Chapter 5

**Shorter chapter this time, and I hoped to add more to it, but I don't want the story to seem too rushed. ^^;**

**So please leave a review and let me know what you think concerning this: is it too slow, or maybe too fast? :)**

**I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

* * *

Tirane was met with very surprised but stiff faces. He wondered if he said something out of line at some point, and he thought back over his words.

"So you want to learn magic, boy?" Alvor huffed.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Tirane asked, confused.

"You'll find that many Nords here are opposed to magic," Hadvar explained. "I'd keep your intentions to yourself from now on," he advised.

Tirane nodded, but he couldn't think of a good reason why Nords would dislike something as useful as magic. He spotted Alvor and Sigrid staring down at him with judgemental eyes.

"Why learn magic, Tirane?" Hadvar asked. There was no air of suspicion or judgement emanating from him, at least. "Don't they have any teachers where you're from? Have you learned any so far?"

"Ah, yes. There are court wizards and all, but they're not always open to students," Tirane chuckled, shuffling his hair.

Hadvar raised his eyebrows in thought. "I guess that's the case."

Tirane continued shuffling his hair and glanced nervously at Hadvar.

"If you want to learn magic, I'm sure the Jarl in Whiterun has a mage who could be willing to teach you," Hadvar suggested.

"I'd rather go to the college," Tirane quickly responded, and then looked down after his sudden objection. "I mean, they're the closest thing to the Mages Guild in Skyrim."

Hadvar nodded slowly, watching Tirane.

Suddenly, Alvor clapped his hands, breaking the tension. "Sigrid, is that food ready yet? These kids must be starving."

"Hush, it's almost done now," Sigrid nagged, turning back to her cooking.

* * *

Tirane lay in a dream-like state on the floor later that night, staring up at the ceiling, but not really seeing it. His thoughts were dominant on the day's events, no matter how much he tried to avoid it. At first, he would think how unbelievable it all was, and how lucky he was to be alive, but as he faded more and more into sleep, all he could think of was the terrifying image of the dragon, sweeping away the town of Helgen like a mighty storm. Killing the townspeople, the Imperials and Stormcloaks – it didn't matter to the beast. It was as if it was as natural as a storm destroying all in its path; an unavoidable disaster with the source incapable of feeling any remorse or fault. It simply existed to cause destruction.

To his surprise, he awoke with a start a while later; the house had grown even darker. He found it hard to believe that he had managed to fall asleep full of those images and he was fortunate enough to not experience a nightmare.

He rubbed his eyes and listened deeply. There was no noise from upstairs, and all he could hear was Hadvar's soft snoring. He occupied a small spare bed downstairs while Tirane was on the floor with rags and cushions beside him. He didn't mind though. Hadvar's arm was bandaged up and every now and then, the pain of it made him groan a little in his sleep.

Tirane thought back to the first taste of good, home-cooked food he'd had for days. It was a simple broth, but after both asked for seconds, he was for once satisfied with a full stomach. He never had such a meal in his younger years. He could hardly believe that he had survived as a child, but he had help.

His memories began to venture into a dark space in his mind, which he dominantly put a stop to. He wouldn't let himself think about what happened in the Imperial City. Not until he found a solution. He would rather think about the dragon again, no matter how much it made him shudder.

He focused instead on his companion, Hadvar. He was extremely grateful towards him. Not only did he save him from the dragon at Helgen, he was a reliable friend so far, even offering to accompany him to Whiterun. Tirane had been helpful in turn towards Hadvar concerning the cave bear, but he still felt that he had an unspoken debt to pay him. It started eating away at him, and he thought that even though he would perhaps miss him, the sooner they part ways at Whiterun, the better.

Tirane didn't want any involvement in the war either. As long as Hadvar had him cleared of being a Stormcloak, or any kind of criminal for that matter, he would be content.

With these clarifications, Tirane slowly fell asleep again, and didn't awake until Alvor woke him early the next morning.

* * *

Tirane, feeling refreshed after washing himself and wearing clothes Alvor supplied him with, walked down the street of Riverwood, keeping his eyes peeled for a certain shop Alvor asked him to visit.

He was clutching a tattered note of shopping supplies Alvor and Sigrid needed, and while Hadvar discussed with his uncle what weapons and other supplies they'll need, Tirane was tasked to buy food and other provisions for them.

The sun was out, granting them a bearable, clear day, although there was a typical chill in the air, as expected of Skyrim weather. Tirane also felt the stiff aches and bruises all over his body from the day before. Sigrid had dealt with his cuts well, but he believed a small one situated on his forehead would leave a scar.

He came across a two-storey wooden building and by Alvor's description, Tirane assumed this was it. With a large creak accompanied by a slight tingle of bells, Tirane opened the door, being met with a beaming man over a counter in the corner. He slowly entered, observing the shop. He could hear scrapes from the floor above, caused by quick footsteps.

"What can I get for you there, young lad?" the shopkeeper queried pleasantly.

Tirane handed him the note. "Just running some errands."

The shopkeeper swiped up the note and inspected it. "Of course, I have everything here."

He turned and began fumbling around, gathering the items.

"Not seen you around here before. You a traveller?" he asked curiously while reaching for something on a shelf.

"Yeah, just passing through."

"Well, if you're looking for a place to stay, I'd recommend the Sleeping Giant Inn. Delphine will take good care of you," he chuckled to himself.

Tirane didn't respond, he just watched him as he gathered the food and potions together and tied them up in a small leather bag.

"That'll be 80 gold pieces," the shopkeeper requested.

Tirane handed the gold over; taken from a small pouch Alvor had given him. He'd never carried that much gold in his life. His situation seemed to have changed dramatically.

"Thanks," Tirane muttered, turning to leave the store.

"Can I interest you in a potion to cure diseases? Pretty useful, especially with the state of things," the shopkeeper suggested.

"Disease? I'm not sick."

The shopkeeper chuckled slightly. "No, not yet. But there've been vampire sightings on small roads to the West. If you're lucky enough to survive one, you'll need this." He showed Tirane a small red potion.

"How much?"

"On the house, for a fellow Imperial. Just make sure you come back sometime, eh?" the shopkeeper smiled.

"Thank you," Tirane stuttered, surprised at the freebie. He hesitantly took the potion. "I'll be on my way then."

The door to the store closed with a loud thud behind him, and his mind was dazed as he walked back to Alvor's house slowly, with the news of vampires. He'd learned of them before, but to think they actually existed. It wasn't even something he considered.

Was it just some story the shopkeeper invented? It couldn't be, considering he was given the potion for free. There'd be no logical reason for it.

Still, he intended to clear things up with Hadvar. Perhaps he'd know of these rumours and could verify if they were true or not.

Tirane's eyes were unfocused and he didn't even notice a tall, fierce-looking woman walking his way until he barged into her.

He was knocked back a little, whereas the woman didn't budge an inch, and stared at him sternly.

"You're not from Riverwood," she told him, eyeing him up and down.

Tirane shook his head, and tried to walk past her, but she grabbed his shoulder, demanding his attention.

"I heard there were travellers in town. I've also heard certain rumours that involve you, I think."

"What rumours?" Tirane snapped, again attempting to leave, but failing with her tight grip on his shoulder. He disliked her serious attitude towards him.

"Rumours that a certain creature thought to be extinct for thousands of years has resurfaced. Most people think it's just talk, but yesterday I found two soldiers from opposing sides arrive covered in soot, dirt and blood. Now I link today's surprising out-of-the-blue gossip with you two, and what do I get?"

Tirane answered with the only thing he could think of to deny the claim. "You're crazy."

She smirked and let go of his shoulder. "I get some sense, that's what. And I'm not crazy. I'm the only one around here observant and smart enough to know what's happened. Walking past, I find Alvor with his nephew talking in hushed, serious tones while sharpening some blades. I wonder what for?"

Tirane shoved past her and continued down to Alvor's. "We're just passing through after a battle. Keep dreaming."

She didn't say anything else, but just watched him leave with narrowed eyes, as he himself concentrated on his walking pace, trying to look calm.

He entered Alvor's house with relief, but inside, Hadvar, Alvor and Sigrid were bustling around, making preparations for them leaving for Whiterun.

"Here are the supplies." Tirane dumped them on the table while he received no response.

After a few hesitant seconds, he sat at the corner, deciding he couldn't do much to help. Hadvar turned to him, unsheathing a large steel sword. "Better quality than your last one," he assured Tirane, smiling. "And Alvor's giving you one of his bows to use, since you expressed talent with it before."

Tirane couldn't help himself grinning in response as Hadvar brought him a long bow, much cleaner and lighter than the one before.

"Thank you," Tirane told Alvor with great gratitude. "I owe a lot to your family."

"Just get to Whiterun in one piece," Alvor grunted. "That's what I care about."

* * *

Hadvar and Tirane stepped out onto the porch, satchels packed and weapons sheathed, hanging around their waists, and Tirane's bow perched on his back. He'd never travelled much with a bow before, and it did feel heavy to him, but he wagered he'd get used to it.

"Just wondering," Tirane said as he turned to Alvor. "You didn't tell anyone about Helgen, did you?"

"Of course not, boy," Alvor retorted. "The Jarl in Whiterun'll protect us, even if the townsfolk don't know about it."

Tirane felt assured that Alvor didn't let it slip, thinking about the woman he encountered on the street, but as Tirane asked his question, he noticed Sigrid twist her lips a little, and stare forward forcibly.

He let it go though, and with Hadvar, he staggered down the steps.

"So you're going to Whiterun?" The female's voice made Tirane groan a little in annoyance, as they all turned towards her direction.

"Delphine," Alvor slurred.

"I'm going with you," Delphine told them, suited up in armour and satchel packed.

"But you're just an innkeeper," Alvor snapped. "And how do you know anything?"

Tirane remained silent but sighed to himself as Hadvar stared at her confused.

"I can handle myself," she assured them, winking at Alvor. "I'm more worried about this boy here," she chuckled, gesturing towards Tirane. "Let's hope he's a better fighter than a liar."

"We're just going to send a message," Tirane established, the talk of fighting making him nervous. Fighting what? A dragon? That's something he'd like to avoid if he could.

Delphine shook her head and rolled her eyes, her tied, dirty blonde hair flailing behind her. "Orgnar will look after the inn until I come back. If he can."

"But…" Tirane protested.

Hadvar, after his silence, gave his opinion. "She can come. She looks like she won't be hindrance. If she wants to, can't stop her."

She smiled triumphantly, but narrowed her eyes. "I'll be coming, even if you didn't give your consent, soldier."

"I guess it's settled then," Hadvar smiled back in return. "Let's get going."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!  
Any tips/comments/constructive criticism is appreciated! ^^**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey! Back from my holiday so I have a bunch of chapters coming up. This one's pretty short, but I'm only excusing myself because I'll have the next one up tomorrow. ^^**

**Review if you have the time :) Thanks!**

* * *

The three had been travelling along in silence, Delphine in the lead with a constant stern look, and Tirane and Hadvar occasionally glancing at each other in wonder at the strong woman. Was she really just an innkeeper?

Tirane was preoccupied with the scenery anyway; something he could never tire of. But suddenly, a faraway thought crept into his mind.

"Hadvar, this will sound strange, but… Are there vampires around here?" Tirane asked with nervous anticipation.

But Hadvar didn't look phased at all. "I've heard rumours that they've been attacking travellers to the West. Nothing for us to worry about."

"So they actually exist?!" Tirane asked incredulously.

Delphine gave a hoarse laugh. "Of course they do. What rock have you been living under?"

Tirane stared down at his feet as he walked in silence.

"But you doubt the existence of vampires after seeing what you saw yesterday?" she continued.

"Can't blame him for being surprised," Hadvar defended. "They are an unusual spectacle, so it'd be easy to brush them off as lore."

Delphine stared back at Hadvar's arm. "The dragon do that to you?"

"No, no," Hadvar laughed. "If the dragon got this close to me, I'd be dead. Cave bear. Big one. If it wasn't for Tirane here, I'd have been killed by a lesser beast."

Delphine chuckled in response, and Tirane continued looking down.

* * *

They spent most of the day following the main road following the White River which crossed all the way through Skyrim. Thankfully, they didn't meet anyone else on the road, but Tirane frequently checked behind them for any signs of Thalmor pursuers. Hadvar told him not to worry about it, but the anxiety was etching away at his mind.

Even Delphine grew silent and wary when the Thalmor were mentioned. She seemed to retreat consciously and mull things over whenever Tirane and Hadvar fell into discussion of them. He wondered what she was concerned over.

Eventually, the trees around them thinned, and the high, rocky land grew flat as they neared the city. They spotted it a while away, first as a hazy silhouette, but as they travelled closer, they recognised the tops of many buildings that were hidden by the tall stone walls. Surrounding the city were small farms and towers for defence and they found many guards and civilians working as they walked past.

Unlike Riverwood, however, many inspected them as they passed, curious and inquisitive about their identities. Tirane kept his head low, while Delphine and Hadvar met their gazes with strong eyes.

Tirane couldn't help but marvel at the large city. It differed to the Imperial city, which was split into several districts and was relatively flat. Whiterun gradually rose in different levels, all rising to one large construction.

"I never tire of the sight of Dragonsreach," Hadvar mumbled to himself.

"Does the Jarl live there?" Tirane asked, bewildered.

"Of course. Where else would he live? The Bannered Mare?" Hadvar chuckled in response.

Tirane wasn't sure of the reference but looked down again.

By the time they reached the city gates, Tirane's fatigue from the previous day began to catch up with him again. He was looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed.

The three were met with two slouching guards by the huge gates. Their faces were covered with helmets, but Tirane could tell they were inspecting them carefully, looking them up and down.

"What brings you to Whiterun?" one of them asked, suspiciously.

"News from Helgen," Hadvar answered. "We need to speak to the Jarl."

The guards looked at each other and then back at the travellers. "What news?"

"Well…" Hadvar knew the panic it would cause if news of a dragon attack was spread too quickly. And the guards seemed suspicious. Too suspicious, in Tirane's opinion.

"Listen, we don't have a lot of time," Tirane snapped, raising his voice a little. He was never really used to speaking out like this. "Or you can explain to the Jarl why he wasn't alerted about a potential danger to his city, personally."

He could tell by how the guard's shoulders slouched a bit that he was taken aback.

"Fine. Go. But we were just being careful considering the state of things," the guard huffed.

Tirane supressed a grin as the gates were opened for them. Hadvar raised his eyebrows a little, but Delphine hadn't shown the slightest interest in the bargaining.

As soon as they entered, they noticed the sudden bustling of the city; the high point of the afternoon as the adults worked and the children played. The richer ones strolled around the streets, admiring the views and shops, while most toiled around their carts. Near the entrance was a sturdy dark-skinned woman hammering down on a blade, forehead glistening with sweat from her suffocating forge. Two children were playing tag, laughing and being yelled at when they ran in front of busy workers. As they continued through, many people had their carts up and running, displaying their goods and constantly haggling or promoting their wares. Tirane tried to spot any beggars lying around on the streets; any child who was thin to the bone, but Whiterun seemed to be free of this poverty. It greatly surprised him, but he suspected he was searching in the wrong places.

"This place seems well-off," Tirane muttered, hoping Hadvar would hear him.

"Yes, and Jarl Balgruuf wants to keep it that way. But he'll have to get his hands dirty eventually."

Tirane wondered how a lot of things he said to Hadvar always seemed to connect to the war, but he remained silent and continued observing as they walked through the streets, noticing a large building with a sign proclaiming "The Bannered Mare." It appeared to be an inn, which made Tirane understand Hadvar's earlier joke.

Delphine strode ahead, not sparing a second glance at anything, as if she was sickly used to seeing the city. It almost made Tirane ask about her connections to Whiterun.

Tirane's interest in the city grew as they reached the top of some steps and reached a large square which led to Dragonsreach. However, his attention was ironically caught by a large, looming figure in the middle. The area seemed to have been constructed around this great tree, but it sadly appeared to be wilting.

Something else caught his eye as well; what he'd been looking for. A small girl with ragged clothes sat on the grass beside the path with a tiny cloth on the mud holding two pieces of gold. Her eyes wandered off in the distance and her wrists were tiny. Tirane was surprised that she said nothing to them as they passed. She wasn't a very good beggar, Tirane thought as memories of his begging days unfortunately arose in his mind.

He reached into his pocket and found the small pouch of gold Alvor had supplied him with. He may need it, and of course, he couldn't afford to give gold to every beggar he seen, but now for the first time he had gold to spare, due to the good fortune of someone else, he wanted to give something back.

He laid the piece of gold down; all he could spare and avoided the girl's dazed eyes until she stared up at him and she seemed to awake from her dream.

"T-thank you," she croaked. Her cheeks were thin and it was difficult to find a clean spot on her face.

Tirane gave a slight smile in response, surprised at her reaction.

He turned to find Hadvar waiting for him while Delphine had continued, heading up the long, towering steps to Dragonsreach. Hadvar's face was straight and he didn't say a word as Tirane caught up with them.

"Forget what I said before," Tirane said, as his eye caught the sight of a man atop a fountain at the other side of the square. He was rambling on about something but Tirane couldn't distinguish his words. "Cities are as deceitful as the moons themselves. Beautiful like the high orbs but always hiding the darker side, which most forget exists. It's always the case."

They walked behind Delphine in silence, and it was then Tirane granted himself some thought about the magnificent towering structure before them. They were quickly under a long shelter leading to the grand entrance. There were soldiers everywhere.

"State your business," one of them ordered as they reached the tall doors.

"Urgent news from Helgen," Hadvar urged, but not too desperately. The guard glanced down at his Imperial armour.

"We need to see the Jarl immediately," Tirane cut in. "There may be an attack on the city."

The guard suddenly stood straight as if this was the first emergency he'd had to deal with. "H-head right in," he stammered.

Relieved that these guards weren't as difficult as the ones at the gate, Tirane exhaled slowly as they pushed open the heavy doors and stepped onto the cool stone floor.

Tirane gaped at the enormity of the building, his eyes examining the high ceiling, before settling down to the throne at the other end, with a bearded, light-haired man, in deep discussion with his advisors.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! More will happen in the next chapter ;)**


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